


Home Is Where The Heart Is

by theDeadTree



Series: Hawke Stories [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:26:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7867864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theDeadTree/pseuds/theDeadTree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hawke struggles to deal with what happened in the Fade. And gets punched in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Is Where The Heart Is

_Did you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city – how could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about._

It wasn’t the first time I’d thought about what the Nightmare said to me – and I doubted it would be the last.

 _“Dammit,”_ I hissed furiously, my knuckles whitening as my grip on my staff tightened.

I’ve dealt with demons almost all my life. I’m supposed to be used to this. It’s supposed to be the kind of thing I shrug off without a second thought. They’re not supposed to be able to read me like that – I’m not supposed to _let_ them. It’s not supposed to be the kind of thing that gets to me.

And yet, here I am. Letting it get to me.

At the time, I’d been more concerned with just _getting out_ and _preventing the Inquisitor from collapsing into a useless mess_ than whatever the demon was saying to me. I was so focused on dragging myself and everyone with me out of that hellish nightmare pit that it didn’t concern me. What _concerned_ me was survival. What concerned me was pulling a twenty-four-year-old mage who is the only hope for Thedas out with me. It’s only now, when things are quiet, when I have time to stop and think, that the true weight of the Nightmare’s words hit me.

They’re the kind of words that stay with you. The kind of words that plague the dark recesses of your mind and never leave.

And, I don’t know. Maybe the reality of what actually happened at Adamant was finally beginning to set in.

A man was dead. A good man. A man I’d known. A man who’d folded his arms and looked at me with an expression of exasperation and pity as I clutched my brother and begged him desperately to help. A man who ultimately came to trust me even though just about every time we saw each other, people were dying, cities were crumbling, and the world was practically ending. A man who deserved better than to have his own order turn on him for taking issue with blood magic.

I sighed.

Blood magic.

It’s _always_ fucking _blood magic._

It’s always there. Silently offering mages more power, in exchange for their soul. It always starts so innocently. They do it to protect themselves, or the people around them. They convince themselves that there isn’t any other choice. But in the end, they need more power. They always need _more._ Then they either fall to the demons they deal with, or their own corrupted being, all the while with the unshakable belief that they’re _right._

The final resort of the weak mind, someone once described it to me.

Feels like every mage I’ve ever known has fallen victim to it in some capacity. Maker, even my own _father,_ who I always thought was strong and incorruptible, was an actively practising blood mage at one point in his life. It was a brief point in his life, yes, because he was coerced into it by Wardens, but the fact remains.

I have to wonder how long until it’s me.

“I’m not weak,” I snarled, the bladed end of my staff slicing through the already battered canvas of the training dummy, causing straw to spill out.

I don’t know where I got the idea that mindlessly beating the absolute shit out of an inanimate object was supposed to somehow help me, or my souring mood. I knew it wasn’t achieving either of those things. What it _was_ helping me do was terrify every single person in Skyhold.

As if people need any more reasons to fear magic these days.

Because of what happened in Kirkwall.

Because of Anders.

Because of _me._

Because I watched it all unfold and in the end, I was powerless to stop it. In the end, it was out of my control. It was _always_ out of my control.

“I-”

I swung with maybe a little too much force as the blade tore through the canvas, mercilessly shredding the material even more than I already had. I didn’t care. I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“Am-”

The air around me began to crackle and spark with the unmistakable thrum of magic. The disruption in the Veil was enough to cause a group of mages to look curiously in my direction, before quickly sidling away.

“Not-”

Electricity flowed from my hand and along my staff, steadily building a charge as I continued to mindlessly attack.

_“Weak!”_

There was a flash brilliant light as a bolt of lightning shot out from my staff, punching straight through the training dummy before colliding with the thick stone wall that made up part of Skyhold’s battlements. There was an earth-shattering _boom_ from the sheer force behind the blow, and the entire mountain seemed to shudder as the bolt quickly dissipated into nothing.

I staggered back, my staff falling from my slacked grip and clattering uselessly to the ground. For what felt like an eternity, I just stood there, chest heaving, trying to clear my head as I stared aimlessly at the smoking remains of the training dummy, trying to ignore the fact that I could feel at least a hundred pairs of eyes on me.

I shouldn’t even be here. I did my part. I dragged the Inquisitor out to the Western Approach. The Wardens are dealt with. That part of this is over. I should be on my way to Weisshaupt, to warn the First Warden of this mess. That’s what I said I was going to do. There actually isn’t any reason for me to stay here any longer than I already have.

But I’m so _tired_ of this. I’m tired of running. Tired of never staying in one place for more than a couple of weeks. I’m tired of being constantly compelled to push everyone who ever meant anything to me away because I’m so damn _scared_ of losing anyone else.

So I came back to Skyhold. Just for a few days. Anything that means I can sit in a tavern with Varric and drink myself into oblivion while pretending none of the past five years or so ever happened.

Just a few days.

That’s all I want.

Maker knows, I’m never going to get that in _Kirkwall._

“Messere Hawke?” a small, timid voice called from behind me.

I whirled around, only to find a young elven woman in an Inquisition scout uniform standing there, shifting awkwardly from side to side. I blinked several times in utter confusion as neither of us said anything.

“There…uh, there’s someone to see you, serah,” she managed after what felt like an eternity.

For so long, I just stared vacantly at her, not quite comprehending what she was telling me.

“Who-?”

I was promptly given my answer when a gauntleted fist connected with my jaw with a startling amount of strength. I was thrown off-balance by the sheer force of the blow, crumpling against the stone wall of Skyhold’s battlements as my hand flew to my cheek in some vague attempt to sooth the pain that had erupted across my face. Clutching my face, still reeling from the shock and the suddenness of the blow, I glanced up at my attacker, who was glaring down at me with fire in his eyes and tattoos that were emitting a faint glow.

I suppose that’s _one_ way to make an entrance.

He’d always had a love of theatrics in that way. Not that he’d ever admit it.

I grinned. I couldn’t help myself.

“Hey, Fen.”

He didn’t seem to approve of my candid greeting. His lips pulled back into a ferocious snarl and he immediately went to hit me again. This time, however, I saw it coming and reached up, catching his fist and stopping it dead in its tracks. I’ll take one punch to the face with a spiky gauntlet, mostly because I know I deserve it. But there’s no way I’m taking two. Certainly not if _he’s_ is the one behind them.

“Well,” I began cheerfully, rubbing my cheek in an effort to sooth the pain. “It’s good to see you too.”

Fenris just let out an incomprehensible growl and remained still. It seemed to take all his self-control not to punch through my ribcage and rip my still-beating heart from my chest.

That’s still more restraint than what he had when we first met.

I swelled with pride at the thought.

He’s come so _far_ since then.

“You left,” he accused, his voice low and deathly quiet.

…wait.

That’s it?

That’s all I get?

I blinked several times. “I- …yes. Sorry.”

“You. _Left,”_ he repeated, doing nothing to conceal the seething rage that seemed to be on the verge of overwhelming him.

Ah.

 _There_ it is.

“What else was I supposed to _do?”_ I demanded. “Damn it, Fenris, I’ve lost too many people. I’m not going to add you to that list.”

“I am not a _child,_ Hawke!” he had to stop himself from outright screaming at me. “I don’t _need_ your protection! You of _all_ people should _know_ that!”

 _Could’ve fooled me,_ I thought scathingly.

Why am I doing this?

Do I really want to have this fight here? Now? In front of the _entire Inquisition?_

I glanced back up at Fenris, my expression quickly hardening. I’m not sure if I really have a choice.

Fine.

We’ve never had a massive, messy, public argument before. I suppose we really are a couple now. It only took us, what, five years? Eight, if we're counting when we initially got together.

“I _told_ you I was going. I _told_ you to stay behind. _You’re_ the one who refused to listen.”

“You didn’t give me a _choice,”_ he snapped back at me.

“Because I was worried you’d kill yourself!”

His lip curled in utter disgust. “Your concern doesn’t give you the right to make those decisions for me.”

And there it is.

There it always was.

It wasn’t about leaving him behind – although I’m sure he _was_ mad about that, too – it was about the fact that I hadn’t left it to chance. I hadn’t let him follow me, regardless of his feelings. I’d taken that choice from him. It was the lack of choice, being forced into a specific direction, more than anything else, that hurt him. I mean, wasn’t the whole point of him spending pretty much an entire decade of his life fighting to get away from slavery so he could finally earn himself the right to make his own decisions?

And just like that, with barely a second thought, I’d taken it from him. I’d known that. I’d spent just about every waking second since hating myself for it. I just hadn’t seen another way.

Cue the almost overwhelming sense of guilt.

He’s so good at making me do that. He and Merrill have that in common.

It’s those damn elven eyes. It must be.

What else was I supposed to _do?_ Risk losing him – risk losing one of the few people left in my life that I really care about? No. I can’t even entertain the possibility. It’s nearly happened so many times already. Sometimes it’s like he doesn’t even have a concept of self-preservation. What am I supposed to do with that? How am I supposed to react? I lost my brother to the Wardens because I was reckless and stupid and assumed that darkspawn didn’t pose the danger they did, since we’d already survived the Blight. I watched my mother and sister die because I didn’t do enough to save them. I’m not letting that happen again. I’m not going through that again. I _refuse._

“Look, I’m _sorry,”_ I said with an exasperated sigh. “But just think about it for a second and tell me I’m not at least a little justified.”

A pause.

An agonisingly long pause as Fenris – finally, for _once_ in his damn _life_ – stopped to consider my point.

And then;

 _“Festis bei umo canavarum,”_ he hissed furiously under his breath. “Don’t do that again.”

I pouted. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Garrett Hawke,” he growled out my name through gritted teeth. _“Never again,_ do you understand me?”

“You’re taking this incredibly seriously,” I noted.

And he says it like he doesn’t already know Fenris takes _literally everything_ seriously. Because he’s Fenris, and that’s part of his charm. That, and constantly being inches away from murder.

“You could’ve _died,”_ he reminded me harshly.

It always comes back to that, doesn’t it?

“I didn’t,” I pointed out.

“That doesn’t make it _better!”_

“It’s got to count at least a little in my favour, surely.”

That earned me a hard glare and not much else. For so long, we just stood there in complete silence, watching each other carefully, waiting for the other to speak. We’d done this dance so many times. It seemed to be how all our fights ended – in nothing but bitter silence. Sooner or later we’d both retreat to a dark corner before making up over a bottle of something alcoholic.

I let out an almighty sigh and shook my head, not sure if I should even bother trying to explain myself. Not sure where to begin if I did. No doubt the _second_ I say anything about what happened at Adamant, about the blood magic, the demons, the dragon that may or may not be an Archdemon, about falling physically into the Fade, he’s going to pull _that_ look. I’m just waiting for it now. He’ll pull _that_ look and I’ll have to hold him down so he doesn’t go and murder every mage in Skyhold – up to and probably including the Inquisitor.

“I’m here,” I murmured. “And alive, aren’t I?”

He remained stubbornly silent, turned so his back was facing me. I groaned loudly.

“Come on Fen…you can’t be mad forever.”

He still didn’t turn to look at me, but there was a slight hint of humour in his voice now. “And here I thought you knew me.”

“I’ll make it up to you?”

“I don’t know if you can. I’m _very_ mad.”

I arched an eyebrow at that. “Really? Because you _sound_ like you want to do something dirty.”

Finally, mercifully, he turned.

“Well observed,” he drawled, grabbing my wrist and pulling me closer with an ease you normally wouldn’t expect from such a wiry elf.

“Maker I missed you,” I breathed, my lips tracing his jaw.

“Never do that to me again,” he murmured. _“Promise me,_ Garrett.”

A small smile pulled at the corners of my lips. “Never again. I promise.”


End file.
